a nasty taste in his mouth over the way Caulfield had treated her. In his opinion, Caulfield never had any intention of marrying Frankie. He had played her the way he played all women. He doubted if Frankie knew Caulfield had been seeing other women while supposedly engaged to her. She wasn’t the type to suffer a philanderer.
And now this. For the second time he’d been party to her humiliation. Self-loathing mingled with hatred for his job.
Hell with Caulfield, he decided. He had an opportunity, in some small way, to make up for the past. Frankie deserved that much.
He filled two mugs with coffee. The dark, rich aroma made his belly rumble. He picked up two muffins, too.
Frankie watched him make his way through the arrangements of potted plants, sofas, club chairs and low tables. “Oh, it’s you,” she said dryly. She looked him up and down, her expression neutral. “I didn’t recognize you without the goon suit.”
Her insult took him back to the good old days. When they worked together, she used to bait him like a kid poking a stick at a caged bear. He’d liked it. She’d made him laugh.
He set a mug of coffee in front of her. “Hungry?” He offered a muffin. She shook her head. Slouched on the chair, shoulders hunched, she looked tired. He wondered if she’d slept at all. He peeled the wrapper off a muffin and inhaled the spicy scent of apples and cinnamon.
“So, how’s Max doing these days?” Her tone was too carefully casual.
He wanted to make her happy by telling her Caulfield had gained weight, was losing his hair and Belinda was making him miserable. Except, that would be a lie. Caulfield was having the time of his life. “Okay.”
“I guess...marriage agrees with him?”
He lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. He bit into the muffin. Rich and heavy, it tasted as good as it smelled. Head down, he watched Frankie from the corner of his eye. Slashes of eyebrows framed her strikingly pale eyes. Strong cheekbones and a square jaw gave her face interesting angles. Even seated and still she vibrated with energy. He liked her mouth. Some might say it was too wide for her face, her lips too full, but he appreciated the supple mobility and the sensual depth of color.
He bit into the muffin, savoring the texture. An idle thought clipped the back of his brain—holding Frankie, making love to her, would be as exhilarating as racing down a mountainside. Her body would be long and lean, muscular, but soft in the right places. He’d plunge both hands in that mass of fiery hair and hang on while he ravished that incredible mouth. Disturbed, he wondered about himself. He hadn’t been interested in any woman since his wife died.
“So, uh, have you...talked to Penny?” Still the too-casual tone as she pulled the coffee mug to her face as if to hide her expression. She stared at the floor.
“No, sorry. I’m just the hired goon.”
“Right,” she muttered.
“What are you doing with yourself these days?” he asked, though he knew the answer already. Two months ago Caulfield had ordered J.T. to find out where Frankie lived and where she worked. He had assumed the boss needed her graphology skills and was conceited enough to think she might come back to work for him. After turning in his report, though, Caulfield never mentioned her again.
“Just working,” she replied. “What about you?”
“Just working.”
She grinned. “A couple of working grunts. Real exciting.”
J.T. liked her smile. He also liked her bare face. At the office she’d worn far too much makeup for his taste. Her skin was creamy with a light dusting of coral freckles along the ridge of her cheekbones. A funny urge filled him to reach for her face, to test her skin to see if it was as soft as it looked. He broke a piece off the muffin.
“Why are you here?” she asked.
“Doing my job.”
“Yeah, right. Since when does Max give a rat’s behind what happens to Julius?”
“It’s not my place to ask questions.”
“ ‘Ours is not to wonder why, ours is but to do or die.”’
She leveled a glower at him that struck him as both funny and sexy. Beautiful mouth. He imagined kissing her would be like riding a shooting star.
“Serious now,” she said. “Is there some kind of threat? Is Penny in danger?”
Only from her nutty mother-in-law, he thought, unable to hold her gaze. Guilt raced through him again, leaving prickly trails on his nerves. “No danger.”
“I don’t believe you. Max doesn’t do anything without a reason. Tell me the truth, why are you playing bodyguard? I have a right to know.”
“I swear,” he said, “no threats, no danger. My presence is nothing more than an ego trip. Julius gets to look like a big shot for his bride.” The not-quite-a-lie tasted sour.
“Figures.” She set down the coffee mug. “I forgot my watch. What time is it?”
He turned his left wrist. “It’s 5:47 a.m.”
“Penny’s an early riser.”
He lifted an eyebrow. He didn’t doubt for a second that Frankie would go charging into the honeymoon cabin, invited or not. “Don’t disturb them, Miss Forrest.”
“Contrary to popular belief, I do have a life of my own. I need to talk to Penny, then get back to town. I’m wasting my time hanging around. Thanks for the coffee.” She jumped to her feet and snatched up the parka that lay across another chair.
He pondered the particulars of his job description, uncertain as to whether guarding a body meant preventing the bride’s agitated sister from barging in on the honeymooners. Frankie might take a swing at Julius. She’d done it before, after he’d made a crack about what kind of wedding present she ought to give Belinda. She’d given him a bloody nose. He wondered if part of the reason Julius married Penny was to get even with Frankie. Julius’s capacity for spitefulness rivaled his mother’s.
He watched her long-legged stride carry her across the lobby to the rear entrance. At the office she’d always worn suits with tailored jackets and short skirts that showed off a pair of world-class legs. He missed looking at her legs, though her pert backside in the tight jeans made a worthwhile show.
He grinned at his unruly thoughts and the stirring low in his groin. It occurred to him, with some discomfort, that he hadn’t harbored lustful thoughts in a long time. Despite being only thirty-five years old he lived like a prissy old man. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything even resembling fun. Between Caulfield’s demands and taking care of Jamie he didn’t have much of a life at all.
He downed the remains of his coffee in one long smooth swallow and rose to follow her.
As soon as he stepped outside, icy air slapped his face. Gooseflesh rose on his arms and back, itching against his woollen shirt. Noting the speed with which Frankie traveled the gravel path to the Honeymoon Hideaway, he decided to forgo running upstairs for a coat.
The path between the hideaway
